


In the Silence I Can Hear You Speak

by rubygirl29



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:27:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubygirl29/pseuds/rubygirl29
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil can hear Clint speak, even when he's silent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Silence I Can Hear You Speak

**Author's Note:**

> I needed to write a PWP. No angst, no bleeding, no waking up in medical. Just cuddles and lovin'.

One of the things Phil appreciates most about Clint is that as much as he can keep up the chatter on coms to leave nuggets of information in his running play-by-play of an op, he can also be completely silent. He knows all of those silences; Clint keeping watch over his fellow agents, setting up to take a shot, patient and still for hours. The silence after he's loosed his arrow. He has never heard him celebrate a death. 

There are other silences. The way he can lie flat on the sofa in Phil's office with a book balanced on his abdomen as he waits for Phil to finish paperwork. The quiet man on the archery range who makes shot after perfect shot, no whooping or showboating, just pure magical skill. 

The silences Phil likes best are the small moments, when he and Clint are alone in his apartment. Moments like this … He looks over the rim of his glasses. Clint is stretched out on Phil's long sofa with their kitten, Casey, curled up in the crook of his arm. He's not sleeping; he has earbuds in and one finger is tapping in time to whatever tune he's listening to. Every now and then, Casey will bat at his finger curiously, and Clint smiles, even though his eyes are closed. 

Phil sets his tablet down, done with work for the night. He walks past Clint, brushes his fingers lightly over Clint's hair. "Time for a drink," he says. "You want anything?"

Clint opens his eyes. Tonight, they're more blue than gray, and soft. His mouth is soft and smiling. "I want a lot of things," he captures Phil's wrist and places a kiss on the pulse point.

"I meant from the kitchen." 

"Water."

"You're so demanding." Clint's quiet chuckle warms him. He brings out two glasses of water. Clint is sitting up, one leg bent, the other on the floor, open and inviting Phil to join him. Casey, miffed that Clint has disturbed her perch, has stalked over to her nest of blankets, and curled up with her tail wrapped around her nose. Phil settles against Clint's chest. He feels the beat of Clint's heart, the heat of his body, the rise and fall as he breathes. His cheek is resting against Phil's. In the insanity of their lives, this is what Phil loves the most. 

He tilts his head up, his lips close to Clint's. It only takes a small dip of Clint's head to bring their lips into a kiss. Clint makes a soft moan as Phil's tongue caresses his. His fingers work the buttons on Phil's shirt open. He slides his palm over Phil's knit vest that he wears under his shirt, the mesh protecting the scar on his chest. It's a material Tony perfected to wear over his arc reactor, it now keeps Phil's shirts from rubbing against the sensitive skin. Phil only feels the warmth of Clint's palm. It feels like life.

Clint's fingers are nimble enough to open Phil's belt one-handed. He cups Phil, and he whispers, "Ready for me?"

Phil's response is another searing kiss. "Always."

"Bed?"

Phil would like to be taken right here, right now, but he's had a long day, and he sparred harder than he should have with May. "Bed," he confirms. 

They kiss their way to the bedroom, working on buttons and shirts on the way. When Phil's knees hit the edge of the mattress, he sits. Clint kneels and removes his socks, rubs the arches of Phil's feet, which make Phil _melt_. His grip tightens on Clint's shoulders. He doesn't need words. Clint rises and takes the hem of Phil's undershirt. "Okay?"

Phil nods and raises his arms. Clint slowly removes the tight garment, careful not to rub against Phil's scar. When the shirt is off, Phil draws a deep breath. He knows the shirt is helpful and protective, but having it taken off is like being able to breathe again. Clint sets it aside and kisses Phil's scar. It's almost a ritual, now, a reminder of how close they came to never being together again. 

He smiles at Clint. "Strip." 

"Yes, sir." Clint has no trouble with that order. Neither does Phil. They stretch out on the bed, skin to skin and it feels so good just to be that close. Clint moves and their cocks rub against each other. Phil draws in a breath. "Good?" Clint asks.

"Definitely." Clint's smile is breathtaking. It's the last coherent word Phil utters as Clint does his best to seduce him, to open him, to prepare him. When Phil guides him, Clint slides in so easily, so sweetly and deeply that Phil climaxes almost as soon as Clint is seated, his come slick and warm between their bodies. Clint does something amazing with his hips, sending waves of pleasure through Phil. "Harder!" he gasps, and Clint responds, hard and fast until his rhythm stutters and Phil opens his eyes in time to see Clint's flutter closed as his utter concentration fades into pure sensation. The only sound he makes is a breathless sigh of Phil's name. His arms are trembling as he lets himself down carefully and waits for his cock to soften and slip from Phil's body. He pulls Phil cautiously to the side to take the pressure off Phil's chest. 

"I won't break," Phil murmurs, as he lets Clint draw him into a protective embrace. 

"I know. Sometimes … " Clint sighs and falls silent.

"What?" Phil urges. He kisses Clint's shoulder. 

"Sometimes I just … when I think of not having you, of having this, I feel like I need to be gentle, to be quiet. It makes things feel _right_ , if that makes sense?"

Phil nods. He doesn't need more words. They lie there for a few minutes while the sweat cools on their bodies and Phil starts shivering. Clint gets up and pulls the covers over Phil's shoulders. A minute later, Phil hears the shower running. He reluctantly leaves the warm nest of the bed — reluctant until he sees Clint standing under the stream of water. He is so damn beautiful, scars and all. Phil steps under the spray and Clint folds him in his arms as the water beats on his back. He squeezes some shower gel into his palms and carefully washes Phil. 

Phil returns the favor, running slick fingers over Clint's amazing chest and arms, kneading his shoulders free of knots, and then just holding him until all the tension drains from his muscles. They towel off and Clint takes their robes off the hook on the door; dark blue and purple, their favorite colors. 

Back in bed, Phil reaches for the thriller he's been reading while Clint settles in with his head tucked against Phil's shoulder and one leg thrown over Phil's. Casey wanders in and hops up on the bed, curling in a ball at Phil's feet, purring like a little motor. 

In the silence, Phil can hear the sound of home, the sound of love. There are no words to capture that moment. 

**The End**


End file.
